Evolution
by ammcj062
Summary: Wee!chesters. It all started one day when eleven-year-old Dean Winchester accepted the dare to climb a huge old tree in the front of their school. An origins story, how Sam and Dean got their mutant powers. AU, Xmen/Supernatural.


It all started one day when eleven-year-old Dean accepted the dare to climb a huge old tree in the front of their school. It had recently been struck by lightening and looked like it might crumble at any minute, but some of the boys had pooled together twenty dollars and he needed the money. Dad was late coming back from a hunt, the milk had been gone since Saturday, and Sammy had run out of Captain Crunch that morning. So ignoring his instincts and the pit forming in his stomach, he carefully scaled the giant tree.

He shimmied up the trunk for about eight feet before encountering the first branch. He latched onto the thick limb and slowly pulled himself up, grunting with exertion. _First branch done… _Dean paused to collect his strength and carefully stood, one hand on the trunk for balance. The next branch was just out of reach. He slowly crouched down, ignoring the milling boys beneath him. _One… two… three!_ Dean sprung upwards, wrapping his arms around the branch. Pretty soon Dean had a rhythm going – stand, squat, _leap, _cling, _heave, _sit, stand, squat, _leap_…

He ignored the sweat pooling on his back and the way he stomach dropped each time his feet left the bark. Thankfully, the branches seemed to grow closer together the higher he climbed and he didn't have to jump. He stopped maybe three-quarters of the way up for a breather, letting his feet dangle over the branch. "Come on!" some kid below yelled. Dean thought it might be Tony. From this height, he looked tiny. "We've only got ten minutes left and you still have to climb back down!"

While the schools supervision of the kids on the playground was abysmal at best, they most likely _would_ notice if seven boys refused to come inside once the bell rang. But - ten minutes? That would mean he had been in that tree for fifteen. Funny, it seemed like longer. He wet his paper-thin mouth and called, "But the view's so nice up here!" When in doubt/fear, be snarky. That was Winchester rule… something. It was in the top ten, at least. He thinks he can see some of the boys shifting, but that might also be because the tree sways with the stiff breeze. "Just give it up, already. You're out of time!"

Dean scowled. He _needed_ that money. "You never said anything about time!" he accused. "Give me the twenty and I'll come down." Ah, the subtleties of teenage extortion. The boys congregated, debating on the pros and cons. Finally, Tony called up, "All right! If you get down in time, we'll pay you. But only so we don't get in trouble. You didn't do what we originally agreed on." Dean shrugged and began his descent. He didn't really give a rat's ass about what they thought, as long as he got the money.

Determined to get down with room to spare, Dean practically fell from branch to branch, thankful the descent was easier than the ascent. It was all going well – until his foot slipped, sending him crashing down towards the unforgiving dirt. Dean let out a manly bellow of surprise (_not_ a shriek) and the boys below scattered.

He bounced off branches, tore his clothes on the rough bark, and eventually hit the ground with a crash. He winced at the initial impact and kept his body rigid, eyes closed, waiting for the inevitable sound of breaking bones. When that didn't happen, he waited for the fresh wave of agony. Nothing. He sat there, catching his breath and wondering why only his backside throbbed a bit, while the boys inched closer.

"Is he _dead_?"

"I don't think so…"

"Can he move?"

"Poke him! See if he reacts."

The boys inched closer. Dean could hear the crunching of dirt and early fall leaves underneath their boots. One boy hesitantly reached out and shook Dean's shoulder. He groaned and they leapt backwards, gasping in shock. Really, he didn't look _that_ bad! "The first thing I see better be a crispy new twenty-dollar bill."

Almost immediately the boys flocked back, voices rising with excitement. Dean opend his eyes to see Tony's hand offering to help him up – not as good as a twenty, but still appreciated. Dean gratefully took it, covering a wince.

"Man, that was _epic._ That must have been a three-story fall at least!" Tony laughed and slapped Dean on the back. "Way to go!"

"Yeah, well, I'm superman." Perhaps the Winchester rule was to be snarky at all times? That sounded more realistic. "I was serious about seeing that twenty, dude. _Now._"

Tony just laughed again and handed over the pile of crumpled bills the boys had pooled together. Still not a twenty, but better than a hand up. "Use it to replace that T-shirt."

Dean looked down at his favorite shirt to see it practically torn in half and liberally scattered with holes. "Aw, crap!" he moaned. This was going to be hell to try and explain to the teachers.

Dean didn't really make anything of the incident for over a year. He simply attributed it to good Winchester luck and moved on – there were classes to attend, people the talk to, and that one really hot girl in his math class to ask to the dance.

It was only when Sammy was eight years old and just beginning third grade that he had reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary.

* * *

"DEEEEEEAN!"

He was already out of his room before Sammy had finished screeching. What met his eyes was – not what he expected. Apparently, he had misinterpreted the shriek as 'terrified for my life' instead of 'deliriously happy.' Sammy was hurtling around the small family room/entry way/kitchen, practically cackling in glee.

He stopped whirling about once he saw Dean and instead began jumping up and down, babbling excitedly with a fruit rollup stuck halfway in his mouth. "Dean, Dean, didja see me? didja? I did wha' Yoda said an' the Force an' it worked an' I god de food an' it just _moved_ like Luke did! Except he only got rocks while I-" Slowly the rollup dissolved on Sammy's tongue and his speech got a bit less muddled, but even with Dean's finely-tuned Sammy translator the elder Winchester couldn't figure out what his brother was babbling on about.

Determined to find the source of his brother's excitement (and goddamit, how had Sammy gotten a fruit rollup? Dean had stashed them in a high shelf that even _he_ barely could reach because he knew exactly how crazy Sammy got when he ate them) Dean lunged across the room to his bouncing brother, latching one hand firmly around Sammy's overactive mouth. "I can't understand a word you're saying, psycho. Now speak _clearly_."

Sammy bobbed his head and Dean took his hand away. Sammy stood up as straight as he could, puffing out his chest and announcing solemnly. "I… am a Jedi."

Dean told himself that it wasn't nice to laugh at his confused little brother. Nor was it appropriate to guffaw, snicker, or roll his eyes. Instead, he vowed to ban Sammy from watching Star Wars for _at least _the next year. "The Force," he drawled in a _do tell more_ voice.

Sammy grinned. "Yep! I'm like Luke Skywalker!" His eyes widened comically. "Which means _you _must be Han Solo!" He frowned. "Or maybe Leia. Because they're related and Han isn't. But she's a _girl_ and Han is a lot cooler and he knows how to shoot guns like you do an' he can fly an' do all this cool stuff –"

Dean sighed and put his hand back over Sammy's mouth before his little brother got rolling again. Sammy's eyes went crossed as he tried to glare at Dean's hands. It's mean to laugh at his confused little brother, Dean reminded himself. Then he got down the business. Most important thing - "I am definitely Han Solo. He's totally the coolest character in Star Wars." Sammy nodded very seriously and Dean risked taking his hand off his brother's mouth. "Now why don't you just, uh, show me those Jedi powers?" Maybe if Sammy failed to 'use the Force' he would figure out himself that Jedi weren't real. Dean watched carefully as Sammy screwed up his pudgy face, eyes squeezed tight in concentration. He lifted up a hand, stretching it out towards the box of Fruit Rollups. (Dean could have _sworn_ he didn't leave them on the counter, easily in Sammy's reach.)

Distracted with trying to remember exactly where he'd put the Rollups when he'd gotten home from the store, Dean missed the box's first minor twitch. But then the hair on the back of his neck stood up. _Something_ was happening – he didn't know what, but there was a nagging feeling in his head that insisted Sammy really was doing _something_ – making _something _happen.

Dean stared hard at the box Sammy was stretching for; the next time it jerked, he caught it. And he saw the next jerk after that. And the next. And the next. It moved irregularly; an inch, two inches, six inches, two feet. Dean gaped, watching as the box reached the end of the counter and wobbly floated halfway across the room before tumbling to the floor.

When the box finally dropped, Dean remembered just who was making it happen. He turned to see Sammy let his pudgy third-grader hand fall to the side. The youngest Winchester yawned and leaned against his older brother. A grin lit his face, but he couldn't hide the fatigue that made his eyelids droop. "See, I can make things move." The statement came out less excited and more statement of fact – apparently, telekinesis or whatever freaky mind-shit Sammy had just pulled took a lot out of him. Sammy slumped further against his brother, eyelids fluttering now. "Like Luke…"

Dean caught his little brother as he began sinking towards the floor. "Sammy?" His brother didn't respond. "Sammy!"

"Go'way, Dean. Sleeping…" Sammy punctuated his whine with a half-exaggerated snore.

Well, that was weird. Maybe next time Sammy didn't want to go to bed, he'd just have him practice that mind shit. Or maybe he'd use Sammy for chores, now that he didn't even have to move. Dean easily carried the smaller boy towards their shared bedroom, gladly taking the distraction his mind had offered him. And pool would be easy when Sammy could just guide the balls into the right pocket. He deposited his brother on his bed, flicked off the lights, and sighed. There would be time to think of a hundred and one uses for Sammy's new powers later – after he had discovered what exactly was fuelling them to begin with. Dean straightened his shoulders and went to confront the mystery of the floating Fruit Rollup box.

The box was still on the floor. It wasn't attached to any wires; there wasn't a slingshot nor any sort of device hidden on the counter space it came from. By any rational means, the box shouldn't have been able to move at all. So how the hell had Sammy been able to call it from across the room? His mind flitted through the creatures that his Dad had told him about that could move objects with their minds.

Any creatures that could look like Sammy (shapeshifters leapt to mind) had no mind powers equivalent to Sammy's. Something could be possessing Sammy – but then why would it show off its powers, tipping off Dean to its presence? Dean sat in the kitchen for nearly three hours, listening to his little brother's snores (another thing – nothing evil he knew _snored_) and going over plans and details and denials.

He lugged out Dad's research books and paged through each one for any sort of creature with psychic abilities, no matter if they could look like Sammy or not. He scrounged up every bit of information he had overheard through his life. He listed down every substance that could be potentially harmful to them, and then added a few that might not be.

Once he was finished scouring all available local resources, he called Pastor Jim with a fake story about his father wanting him to begin a self-study course about the supernatural. He double-checked information and added a few more items to use on his list. He hung up with a string of light-hearted goodbyes, assuring Pastor Jim that yes, Sammy was fine and so was he. If there was anything besides hunting all Winchesters excelled at, it was lying their asses off convincingly.

Finally, Dean took his notes and headed to Dad's stores. Unlikely or not, he was going to test everything he'd written down on Sammy, just in case. And if nothing happened… well, they just wouldn't tell Dad.

* * *

"Dean!" Sammy whined. "Why do I have to do this?"

Dean shot his brother an annoyed glare. "Because I said so. You need to start learning how to recognize some of the stuff we hunt, and I can't demonstrate on myself. Now sit still."

Sammy scowled but calmed down. He pointed to the flask in Dean's hands. "What's that?"

"Holy water. I'm going to splash some on you."

"Why?"

Dean hated that question. Especially when it came from Sammy, because it was inevitably followed by a torrent of even more. But as long as he stayed in that chair… "It's to check for demonic possession."

Sammy's eyes widened. "What'll happen if they're possessed?"

"You'll start smoking. It's like acid for them." Dean splashed some on Sammy's face, secretly relieved when nothing happened. Demonic possession had been the most likely case of Sammy's Force ability. He continued with the lecture he was giving Sammy. "If they don't start smoking and their eyes don't turn black, they're probably not possessed."

"What if they are?" Sammy asked, wiping his face on his t-shirt.

"Then you have to exorcize them, and send them back to Hell." Dean picked up the salt.

"Why do you have to exercise them?"

Dean chuckled. "Ex_or_cize. You made the demons leave the person they're possessing by reciting an exorcism. Not exercise. An exorcism is a bunch of Latin you say that makes the demon leave"

"What does the exorcism say?" Sam slowly turned, watching Dean pour a circle of salt.

"It depends. The general gist of it is basically telling the demon to go away."

"Well, why can't you just ask it in English?"

"Because they're evil, and they don't want to go. So an exorcism is the only way to kick them out. Now jump over the salt line."

"Well if they don't want to go, then why do they just leave if you ask them in another language?"

"It's like when Dad asks you to do something and he sounds like he's giving you a choice but you really can't do anything else besides what he tells you to or else you're in trouble. Now jump."

"Why?"

"Why would you be in trouble? Because you didn't do what he said. Now jump!"

"I _meant_" Sammy began with all the petulance of an eight-year-old "Why do I have to jump over the salt?"

Dean knew that was what Sammy meant. But it was a lot easier to misunderstand and answer the other question. "So I know you're not a ghost."

Sammy made a face. "That's stupid. If I was a ghost, you couldn't touch me."

Dean sighed and pinned his brother with a look. It wasn't in the same league as Dad's Look, but it seemed to work pretty well on Sammy. "I know you're not a ghost. It's a way of stopping ghosts. They can't cross over salt lines."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, they just don't like it. Supposed to be pure or something. Now." Dean pointed and reinforced his silent order with another look. Sammy jumped.

* * *

An hour later, Sammy was still asking questions and Dean had run out of things to check for. So instead, he sat Sammy down at the kitchen table. "Hey, Sammy, remember when you moved that box?"

Sammy tried to grin and give his brother a _whadda you think I am, stupid?_ face at the same time. (Unsurprisingly, it didn't work out.) "Uh, Yeah. I'm a Jedi."

Dean lightly smacked Sammy's hair. "You're only a Jedi after you've gone through training, Padawan." It was best to squash Sammy's ego before it got started. "But you can't tell Dad."

Sammy's face transformed into something a lot less awkward and a lot more familiar. "Why?" He whined, mopey face hung low and lips jutted out.

"Because I said so. It's like soccer practice – I know about that, I'm not stupid." Sammy apparently had thought he _was, _judging from the alarmed look. He'd been sneaking off to play soccer in a local recreational league after talking himself onto one of the teams the first week here. Dean had been proud of the kid's debate skills, but also a bit disappointed he hadn't asked Dean to do it for him - he was the older brother and protector, after all. Dean had ended up sneaking down to the park ever time Sammy did to guard his little brother's games from anything supernatural. (anything parental, Dean was sure, the coach could handle.)

"Just treat it like soccer practice and don't let Dad know." Sammy chewed a pudgy lip, thinking. Dean got nervous - Sammy was already nefariously devious.

"Deal. As long as you do one thing."

_Sonuva… _"What?" Dean asked cautiously. (_Oh please oh please oh please don't be anything about Fruit Rollups!_)

"You let me practice on you!"

(_Oh please – whaat?_) "What?"

"Pr-ac-ti-sssse" Sammy drew out all four syllables of the two syllable word. "I need someone to pr-ac-ti-ce on."

"No way."

"Well, I guess I'm telling Dad then!"

Why didn't the hellion understand not telling Dad was in its own favor? It sounded positively… gleeful.

"No you're not. Dad would flip."

"Then let me practice on you!"

"No, Sammy!"

"Deeean…"

"Sam!"

"Yoda lets Luke practice on him!"

"Well, when I'm a scaly green midget-puppet living in the middle of a godda- of a swamp, you can practice on me."

Sam's expression took on a calculating tilt. "If you don't let me practice on you, I'll tell dad _and _I'll tell him you used a bad word in front of me."

That little shit! "I did _not!_"

"Were _gonna!"_

"But I didn't, did I?"

"But how else would I know it?"

Dean's mouth flapped. Sam would know it because he's Sam, and knowing things he shouldn't like that is practically his job description. He'd heard it first from dad, anyways, but neither he nor Sam would risk telling him that straight out. Dean was effectively trapped.

"Asshole."

"AND I'll tell him-"

"You won't be telling him anyways-"

"-that you said-"

"because _alright._"

"assh-really?"

Dean knew he would regret it, but, "I said alright." Sam beamed.


End file.
